


Translation

by glim



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Oblivious Enjolras, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 14:45:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>You won't learn English from reading poetry.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Translation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slightlytookish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlytookish/gifts).



> For slightlytookish, who requested academic!au and Yeats. Happy spring :D

Enjolras stares at Grantaire for as long as he can before admitting to himself that Grantaire has either not noticed or is ignoring him. Which is wildly unfair, given that in most other circumstances, he tends to tread the line between vaguely over-observant and vaguely annoying with the amount of attention he gives Enjolras when they're in public. Enjolras puts his own book and notes aside, and taps the spine of the one at which Grantaire is frowning. 

"You won't learn English from reading poetry. Not properly," Enjolras adds when Grantaire sighs at him. He's been sighing at him quite a bit lately, over cups of strong coffee and during late night walks back to their block of flats after drinks. 

"I don't need to speak proper English. I need to speak..." He waves his hand around his head in some gesture that Enjolras interprets as 'artistically.' 

"You tried to learn Italian from reading Dante."

"Well..."

"And German from listening to opera--"

"Well, perhaps. But now I know a bit of each, enough to understand some of what the characters feel." Grantaire peers over the edge of his book, then smiles at the shake of Enjolras's head. "You didn't read Locke in translation. And you read Hobbes in English just so you could argue with Hobbes. In English," he adds, and looks about to laugh. "Loudly."

The look cuts off Enjolras's desire to claim that it was different, that there was no poetry left in the philosophy of that age, but he knows he's wrong. 

He surrenders with a laugh of his own, short and sharp, and pushes his books aside to peer over Grantaire's shoulder. "Read to me, then, the words and feelings you've found."

Grantaire lowers his eyes and glances down at the page, suddenly tense, then hesitant,, and quickly turns the pages from the lamentation of the leaves to Byzantium.


End file.
